


Happy Valentine's Day, Sweet Cheeks

by Robespierre



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Panty Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-14
Updated: 2013-02-14
Packaged: 2017-11-29 05:40:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/683474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robespierre/pseuds/Robespierre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles and Derek have been friends with benefits for a while now, and Stiles is starting to want more.  They have a date tonight, and Stiles is willing to try anything to show Derek just how great they would be together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happy Valentine's Day, Sweet Cheeks

Stiles Stilinski was on top of the world.  His grades were great, Scott and Allison were back together, and the various and sundry supernatural creatures of Beacon Hills been quiet and well-behaved lately.  But more importantly, he had a date.  With the sexy sourwolf himself, Derek Hale.  
  
At least, he was pretty sure that it was a date.  Stiles and Derek had been fooling around for almost two months now and while they hadn't really talked much (who was he kidding - they hadn't been _talking_ at all) about what was going on between them, Stiles was sure that this was the next step.  
  
Derek's exact words: "Can I pick you up after school?  I made some plans for us."  
  
Definitely a date, right?  Right.  Their hookups to this point had all been spontaneous, heat-of-the-moment things; the two of them seemed to gravitate toward each other whenever something stressful was going down.  Like an out-of-control kanima or an invading Alpha pack. Or, you, know, a Tuesday.  
  
But this was different.  This was the first time that they had made actual plans. 

Totally a date.  
  
The day was dragging, as days always did when he was excited about something.  He could tell that Scott was getting sick of hearing about Derek, but he didn't really care.  Stiles was such a good friend that he'd heard so much more about Scott and Allison's relationship than he _ever_ wanted to know, so Scott could just deal with it.  Anyway, he should be happy that his best friend was happy.  And having sex.  With the hottest man in a hundred-mile radius.  Maybe a thousand.  Possibly the whole Western hemisphere.  
  
Stiles squirmed in his seat and nudged Scott’s shoulder, shaking him out of his current Allison daydream. 

"Dude, do you think that there are guys as sexy as Derek living in China?"  
  
Scott grabbed his arm and leaned in close, his mouth just inches away from Stiles' ear.  
  
"Listen to me," he hissed.  "I'm thrilled that you're happy, I really am.  I'm glad that you're finally getting everything that you wanted, even though I still don't understand why you want to date _Derek_.  But c'mon!  I really don't need to hear about how hot Derek is all the time.  He's a dude!  It makes me really uncomfortable.”  
  
Scott relaxed his wolfy death-grip on Stiles' bicep and stood up, ready to leave the cafeteria. 

Stiles' phone vibrated from somewhere in the depths of his backpack.  The search for it distracted him from doing more than sputtering, "You dick!" at Scott and vowing to tie him up the next full moon and force him to listen to all the details of guy-on-guy sex.  
  
Success!  His phone had somehow found its way into the pocket of the track pants balled up at the bottom of his bag.  
  
1 new message - Derek :)  
  
**Have to cancel. Sorry.**  
  
_Oh, no._ Stiles felt disappointment flood his body. 

**_Fine_ **

Derek’s response was immediate.

**Maybe I’ll see you later.**

Stiles quickly tapped out a reply, grabbed his bag, and headed out of the cafeteria, completely ignoring Scott’s quiet, “Stiles?" 

**_Whatever_ **

 

\---

 

He’d never known these rooms existed until junior year.  He had been working on a group podcast project for his English class, and they needed a quiet place to record themselves.  One group member, a girl who was a member of basically every musical group the school had to offer, guided them all to the music practice rooms.  They were small, claustrophobia-inducing rooms – most of them just big enough for a chair and a music stand – but they were soundproofed. 

And, it turned out, never really occupied.  Students avoided these musty rooms, preferring to practice at home to avoid being squeezed into the tiny spaces. 

After a little exploring, Stiles discovered his favorite room.  It was just big enough for an old, horribly out of tune piano, a metal folding chair, and a filing cabinet full of music.  A full-length mirror (to check your posture while practicing, he guessed) was the only decoration on the padded walls. 

The practice room became his sanctuary, the place where he went whenever he needed a break from the ridiculousness that was his life since Scott had been bitten.  He occasionally managed to get some studying done in there during a free period, but he usually spent his time at the piano, attempting to pick out simple songs like Jingle Bells and Mary Had a Little Lamb.  If he was in a particularly bad mood, he sometimes just sat and started at the Baldwin nameplate on the piano as though it held all of the secrets of the universe. 

And on the worst days, the days it seemed like nothing was going right and nothing would ever be okay again, he discovered that shouting at the top of his lungs was a pretty effective means of stress relief.  It didn’t necessarily make him feel better, but it helped him calm down enough to get through the rest of the day.   

That’s why after being ditched by Derek, disappointment and anger churning in his gut, he slammed open the door to his practice room with enough force to shake the heavy filing cabinet. 

Dammit!  He had been waiting for this day for months.  Well, if he was being completely honest with himself, it had been more than a year.  When they first met, Stiles had been struck by Derek’s – well, _good looks_ didn’t really cover it.  It was more like _oh my god he’s so hot how is it that I’m looking upon the true form of an angel without getting my eyes burned out of my skull like on Supernatural?_

But it was different now.  Somewhere between all of the snark and threats of bodily harm, Stiles had gone and done one of the dumbest things he possibly could have done – he had fallen for Derek.  He was completely, totally, head over heels in love with Derek Hale.

All of a sudden, what they had wasn’t enough for Stiles.  Yeah, the sex was great (oh god, was the sex great), but he wanted an actual relationship: dates, holding hands, being able to say, “This is my boyfriend.”

But Derek was older and more experienced; he could have his choice of anybody.  Stiles was sure that Derek could walk into any room and have both men and women throwing themselves at him.  That he was interested in Stiles at all was a miracle; to imagine that he would want anything more than just a physical relationship was impossible to imagine. 

Except.

Except lately, Derek had been crawling in through Stiles’ bedroom window more and more frequently.  Some nights, they didn’t do anything more than play Call of Duty or watch Youtube videos of cats getting scared and running into walls, Derek’s arm around Stiles’ shoulders or Stiles’ fingers sifting through Derek’s thick hair.  It wasn’t all sex, all the time – it was something like a friendship.  A friendship that was occasionally punctuated by screaming orgasms, but a friendship nonetheless. 

Did Derek want more?  Hard as it was for Stiles to wrap his head around the idea, all signs pointed to yes.  Thus began Operation “Make Derek Want to be With Stiles Forever and Ever.”

He did everything he could think of to entice Derek into hanging around.  He did research without being asked to, gave surprise blowjobs in Derek’s Camaro, even baked cookies – anything he could think of to make Derek realize how great his life would be with Stiles playing a more important role in it. 

And he’d really thought that it was working.  That tonight was really a date and that Derek was starting to understand how good they could be as a couple.  But if Derek could blow him off this easily – this _casually_ – then Stiles was obviously deluding himself.    

And that made what he had done today even more embarrassing. 

He knew that he was taking a chance by trying it, but he had seen the way Derek’s eyes had flashed red for a second when he’d joked about it.  He’d never considered doing it before, but that look was enough to make him want to try it – anything to show Derek what a fantastic, spontaneous, sexy boyfriend he would be. 

That’s why this morning he had passed over his usual boxers and wriggled into a pair of ruffled, pink panties. 

And _fuck_ , was it weird.  He’d never imagined that he might actually like it; it was just something that he was doing for Derek.  But the tickling of ruffles against his skin and the snugness of a crotch obviously not made to cover a man were making it hard to focus on anything but the fact that _he was wearing panties_.  

He’d been squirming and half-hard all day, so nervous that somebody would figure out what he was up to that he was flushed and sweaty, avoiding unnecessary conversation just in case he blurted out his secret.  At least once every ten minutes, he decided to head to the bathroom to take them off, figuring that freeballing it for the rest of the day would be less awkward than continuing to wiggle around, surreptitiously trying to dislodge his lace wedgie.  But the thought of Derek’s reaction when he saw what Stiles was wearing was enough to keep him pinned to his chair, imagining everything that the two of them were going to do to each other. 

God, he had been so ready to just jump on Derek when he picked him up from school.  But now he had nothing to look forward to except a long evening of being pissed off and alone. 

He felt so stupid, building this thing up in this mind.  Now he was pissed, itchy, and more than a little ashamed.  What had he been thinking?  Here he stood, furious but still aroused, a skinny high school senior alone in a music practice room, pink ruffles just barely peeking out over the waistband of his jeans.  

He knew it wasn’t healthy to pin all of his hopes for happiness on Derek, but he had genuinely thought that today was going to be a turning point for them.  That Derek might just want him back, not only as a fuck buddy, but as a boyfriend. 

Well, that was obviously not the case. 

He was so overwhelmed with the dual burning sensations of anger and shame that he didn’t notice the door open behind him. 

“Hey, Stiles.”

“Derek!” he squawked.  “What are you doing here?  How did you know where to find me?  What do you – ”

He was effectively silenced as Derek was on him in an instant, hands grabbing his waist as he brought their mouths together in a bruising kiss. 

 _Oh, fuck_.  Stiles melted under the relentless onslaught of Derek’s lips and tongue, temporarily unable to remember why he was upset at all.  He practically purred at the sensation of Derek’s hands moving under his shirt to run in a loop from his waist to the back of his neck, squeezing possessively as his lips slid down Stiles’ throat and sucked lightly at his Adam’s apple. 

“God, Derek,” he gasped. 

“Missed this,” Derek murmured against Stiles’ neck.  “Couldn’t wait to touch you again.”

Okay, either this was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to him or he’d been hurt (again) by werewolves and was trapped in some kind of coma-induced sexy werewolf dream.  Because things like this just did not happen to him.  The man of his dreams surprising him in the middle of the school day to tell him how irresistible he was and – _oh_ – suck a hickey into the thin skin over his collarbone, then – _fuck_ – yank his shirt over his head, and – _oh dear sweet Jesus_ – effortlessly flick open the button of his jeans –      

 _Wait, no no no_!

Stiles suddenly saw clearly through the fog of lust he’d been lost in.  Derek couldn’t take Stiles’ pants off, because then he would _see_ – he would know what a pathetic loser Stiles was, trying desperately to win over a guy who wanted nothing from him but sex.

He tried to say stop, but Derek’s teeth closed lightly on his earlobe, forcing all coherent thought from his mind as he tipped his head back and let loose what he would deny until his dying day was a squeal. 

Before he realized what had happened, Derek had Stiles’ jeans unzipped and his hands inside, squeezing Stiles’ ass painfully hard – and then _freezing_. 

Stiles had used the word ‘mortifying’ in his English essay just last week, but he’d never truly experienced mortification until now.  His horror at Derek realizing what he was touching – it was beyond embarrassment, beyond shame – it was the worst he’d ever felt in his life.  Worse than physical pain, even.  If the ground were to open up and swallow him, he’d be completely cool with ending up in Hell, just as long as he didn’t have to face Derek ever again. 

Derek dropped to his knees in front of him and started to shimmy the pants down his legs.  Stiles immediately stepped back, pushing Derek’s hands away and trying to rezip his jeans.  For one brief, shining moment, he thought he was going to be successful – that Derek hadn’t actually noticed anything and would just think that Stiles wasn’t in the mood for some reason. 

But his hopes were dashed when Derek _growled_ and wrapped his hands around Stiles’ wrists.  Knowing full well that there was no way he could physically overpower a werewolf, but trying all the same, he attempted to break free of Derek’s hold, but couldn’t move even an inch. 

Derek glanced up at him before slowly, so fucking slowly, releasing Stiles’ wrists and curling his fingers in the waistband of his jeans.  And Stiles, like he’d been hypnotized or something, _let him_.  Let Derek slide his jeans down over his slim hips and thighs to bunch up below his knees.          

As far as panties went, they weren’t the skimpiest pair he’d ever seen.  No thong, no see-through cut-outs – just lots and lots of pink ruffles.  The tag said they were “boy shorts,” but there was definitely nothing masculine about them.  Just layer after layer of cotton candy pink ruffles.  And a tiny little fucking bow in the front.  The fabric dipped down several inches below his navel in the front and barely covered his ass cheeks in the back, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination.

It was painfully obvious that he was hard; the outline of his cock was perfectly visible through the pink lace.  More embarrassingly, the wet spot that had formed as he walked around half-hard all morning was now significantly bigger.  And growing by the second because _Derek Hale’s fucking mouth_ was just inches away from him.   

He knew that his face and neck had to be bright red – he could see the flush spreading down his chest and hoped for a moment that he was going to freaking spontaneously combust.  At least dead, he wouldn’t have to worry about what Derek thought of him.   

He closed his eyes and prepared for the worst.  Derek was going to laugh, he was sure of it.  Laugh and probably point.  And then before you could say sourwolf, everybody in Beacon Hills would know that Stiles was a freak who liked to wear panties.  

The silence went on for so long that he couldn’t help it – he had to know what was going on.

Derek was completely still, sitting back on his heels as he freaking _stared_ at Stiles’ crotch as though he had been struck dumb – his mouth was slack and his eyes were opened so wide that it would have been funny under any other circumstance.  But here he was, just starting, and Stiles didn’t know what to do. 

Derek’s voice was absolutely _wrecked_ when he finally spoke. 

“God, Stiles, you…holy fuck.”

Before Stiles could even process the fact that Derek’s reaction sounded pretty positive, he was being shoved _hard_ against the room’s far wall, his back bouncing off the soundproofing panels.  Derek remained on his knees, one hand squeezing himself through his jeans, just staring at Stiles with such intensity that he was surprised he couldn’t feel the heat from it.

“You…this is okay?” he ventured.

Derek didn’t answer, but he made a hand gesture that took Stiles a few seconds to figure out: _turn around_.   

Holy shit, he had rendered Derek speechless.  Stiles toed off his sneakers, slid his jeans down over his feet, and turned, grinning, to face the wall.  Bracing himself on his forearms, he leaned forward and (in what was undoubtedly the sluttiest thing he’d ever done in his short life) gently shook his ass. 

Derek was on him in a heartbeat, hands squeezing Stiles’ cheeks with such ferocity that he knew he’d be feeling it for days.  Derek’s breath was hot against his neck.    

“Stiles…can’t…I have to.  Now.  Please?  Now!”

Cue brain meltdown.  Derek didn’t just like the way he looked in panties – he was _totally_ _unable to form a complete sentence._ All because of the way Stiles looked in girls’ underwear. 

“Yes, okay, yes, hang on,” Stiles whispered, moving to slip the panties down his legs.   

“No.”  Derek had slid back into that commanding Alpha tone, and Stiles knew that if he looked, his eyes would be red.  “Leave them on.” 

Was that – holy shit, did Derek just rip his panties?  It felt like they were still intact; they were covering his ass and his dick, so it wasn’t like he’d completely shredded them.  It was almost like he’d just – _fuck_ , he’d just ripped one hole just the perfect size for –

For his cock, which he was currently attempting to shove into a decidedly unprepared Stiles. 

“Derek!  You can’t just – ”

“Sorry, sorry,” Derek panted against his shoulder.  “Can’t help myself.  Need to…fuck, need you so bad.”

Stiles couldn’t see anything but the padded wall in front of him, couldn’t feel anything but Derek pressed against him, still fully dressed, though his jeans and boxers were bunched up in the middle of his thighs.  He allowed himself  a moment of imagining what they looked like together, actually gasping at the thought of Derek’s naked ass showing in the gap between his shirt and pants, Stiles’ skinny legs spread wide, the occasional flash of pink as Derek ground his hips against him.

“In my backpack,” he managed to choke out. 

What kind of person carries lube in his backpack, just in case?  The kind of person who was planning on sexing up his not-quite-boyfriend in his car after school.  Wow, never had his planning ahead worked out this well for him.    

Derek growled like it was physically painful to separate from Stiles for even a second, but he managed to grab the strap of his bag and upend it, dumping its contents on the floor.  He snatched the small bottle from the mess of pencils, folders, and gum wrappers that poured from the bag, and Stiles was never in his life so happy to see that Derek’s fingers were completely normal, not a claw in sight.  Because he knew that neither of them had enough patience to wait for Derek to calm down before the (what was looking like it was going to be _pretty fucking awesome_ )sexytime began.       

Derek wasted no time in replastering his body to Stiles’, his one hand going to Stiles’ throat, forcing his head back as he alternated between sucking kisses and practically gnawing on Stiles’ neck, collarbone, shoulder – anywhere he could reach.  The fingers of his other hand slid between the cheeks of Stiles’ ass before working their way inside him, only feeding glob after glob of lube into his body and not doing much in the way of stretching him.

And that was a-fucking-okay with him.  Something about today, something about the situation, had him already so close to the edge that he knew he’d never be able to wait for Derek to be gentle and thorough.  Besides, he wanted – no, _needed_ – to have Derek inside him as soon as possible. 

His hips humped forward and rolled back, caught in a cycle of mindlessly grinding back onto Derek’s fingers and arching forward to rub himself against the wall.  Anything to get a little friction.

“Are you…can I?”

Stiles couldn’t find the words (or the brainpower) necessary to answer the half-question and simply muffled his groan in the curve of Derek’s jaw while pressing himself back against the mass of scorching heat that was Derek’s body. 

Derek pressed slowly into him, not stopping until he was completely buried in Stiles’ body.  And _oh_ , the hole that he had ripped into the panties was making this a thousand times better than Stiles could ever have imagined.  The lace, already stretched tight to accommodate him, became even more constricting, squeezing his dick against his body so tightly that his head swam and his vision went a little dim. 

Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles’ chest, one hand halfheartedly tweaking a nipple, as he pulled out slowly, only to drive back in with enough strength to push Stiles up against the wall, forcing a startled gasp out of him.  He did it again, pausing between thrusts for so long that Stiles actually considered just throwing Derek on the ground and riding him at exactly the pace he wanted.  (Well, he would try to throw Derek on the ground.  Stupid werewolf would just laugh.  But hey, sex fantasy!  Anything could happen.)

Each of Derek’s _oh so slow_ thrusts punched a groan out of Stiles, the joining of their bodies so intense that he was soon reduced to nothing more than grunts and mumbles of, “God, Derek, oh, fuck, yes!”

Derek wasn’t doing a great job of keeping up his end of the conversation, either.  It was just “Stiles, fuck, you’re so, fuck, hot, I can’t, I have to.”

He dropped one hand to stroke Stiles’ panties – not his cock, just his fucking panties – and Stiles, no joke, actually screamed in frustration.

“Derek!  I can’t take it – you have to touch me!”

But Derek, the bastard, just laughed.  He fucking _laughed_ and, making sure he had a tight grip on Stiles, backed them up a few steps until he plopped his ass down in the middle of the piano’s keyboard.  The sound forced a giggle out of Stiles, and it only got worse when Derek moved because each flex of his muscles depressed and released a few keys, so their fucking literally had a musical accompaniment. 

But it didn’t seem quite as funny when Derek stopped thrusting and simply drove his hips up as hard as he could and just ground himself against Stiles like he was trying to push through him.  His hands slid to Stiles’ hips, slipping under the elastic waistband and pulling the panties even tighter against his body, not allowing for even a single millimeter of movement for his dripping cock.

And normally he’d be bitching about that, but something about the way they were joined, the angle at which Derek was pushing into him, and the sheer pressure of the pink lace on his dick was making him crazy.

“Derek, ah, so good, just _more_ please!”

It was as though Derek had been waiting for him to ask, because Stiles suddenly felt like he was flying as Derek lifted him and _slammed_ him back down onto his cock.  Derek used the fucking panties like handles to bring their bodies together in a constant slap of flesh against flesh that had both of them ratcheting up the volume level of their moans to the point that Stiles knew he would be expelled from Beacon Hills High School if the room wasn’t soundproofed. 

“I, oh fuck, Stiles, I’m going to, I’m – ”

And this time he _was_ flying, because Derek was pulling out and throwing (well, maybe not throwing, but it werewolf speed certainly made it seem that way) Stiles onto the floor, rolling him onto his back as soon as his knees hit the ground.  Stiles couldn’t do anything but fucking whimper as he stared up at Derek’s face, his eyes gone red and his ears just starting to form points, as Derek fisted his cock and came, gasping, all over the front of Stiles’ panties. 

Stiles could feel it, hot as blood, seeping through the lace to drip onto his cock.  Derek seemed to be caught in a loop of pleasure; he was shivering but couldn’t stop stroking himself as he brought his other hand to Stiles’ crotch. 

Stiles was so ready for Derek to reach in and jerk him off or go down on him or, well, anything, but Derek just slid his hand back and forth over the panties, sometimes rubbing against Stiles’ cock and sometimes not.  It wasn’t until the fourth or fifth pass that Stiles realized what was happening – Derek was rubbing his come into the fabric of the Stiles’ panties. 

It was exactly at that moment of realization that Derek fitted his hand over the outline of Stiles’ cock and _squeezed_.  Stiles’ back arched off the floor as he came like he was being electrocuted, harder and longer than he ever had before, to the point that his body simply gave up and collapsed to the tile, his cock still spurting as his come joined Derek’s inside his panties.

Derek was suddenly on top of him, petting his skin like he was some kind of pet needing to be soothed. 

“Fuck, Stiles – your _skin_.  Can’t stop touching you.  Love you like this.”

Couldn’t a guy get even a second to bask in the fucking afterglow?  Stiles snapped back to reality.  Derek loved him like this?  Like what?  In nothing but white athletic socks and pink panties?

God, he was pathetic.  This whole thing was so fucked up. 

He slid out from under Derek, peeled the disgusting panties off and flung them into the corner, and slid back into his jeans.  He couldn’t find his shirt or shoes and was getting steadily more frustrated, until he finally decided to say fuck the consequences and leave shirtless and shoeless.  

Derek caught him by the arm before he could get to the door.  
  
“Stiles?”  He sounded almost worried.  “Stiles, what’s wrong?  I thought that was…well, it was pretty spectacular.”

“Yeah, Derek, it was fucking awesome.  Now let go of me.  I need to get out of here.  I’ll see you around.”    

“But – ”

“It’s obvious that you got what you wanted, so I’ll be on my way.  Pleasure to be of service.”

Derek growled.  Not a sexy growl, either.  A dangerous growl that Stiles hadn’t heard since the Alpha pack was taken care of. 

“How can you be so smart and so _stupid_ at the same time?”

“Wow, thanks.  You know what – fuck you, Derek!  _You_ leave!  Just get out of here!”

“Stiles, listen.” 

He was beyond pissed now, so angry that he felt like it might actually be possible for his head to explode like a cartoon character.  He needed to get away from Derek before he said something he was sure to regret later, but he just had to hear whatever lame-ass excuse Derek was going to come up with.      

“I came to school because Scott said that you were really upset.  He called me right after I sent you that text.  He said, and I quote, ‘I don’t know what you just said to Stiles, but if you hurt him, I’ll kill you.  And maybe resurrect you and kill you again.’”

Wow.  Score one for Scotty.  He hadn’t even realized that Scott had noticed how upset he was.    

“I’m not good at this.”  Derek flapped his hand around in a gesture that didn’t help clarify anything.  “You know, feelings.  But I want to be.  For you.  So you can have everything that you deserve.  I was going to take you out tonight – I made reservations for a really nice dinner and everything, but then Peter called me and there’s this little kid lost up in the mountains.  We’re going to go join the search party.”

Stiles mind was stuck on one sentence.

“You…you were going to take me out _for Valentine’s Day_?” he squeaked.

Derek pulled a small cloth bag out of his pocket, pulled open the drawstring, and tipped the contents into Stiles’ hand.    

“I got you this.  I wasn’t sure if you’d even want to wear it, but – ”

“Derek.  Shut up.”

It was a tiny gray wolf figurine on a black leather cord. 

“You were going to take me out for Valentine’s Day?” he asked again, quieter this time. 

Derek nodded.

“I thought that you just wanted me for – ”

“You know that I…I have trouble talking about how I feel.  But I want to be with you.  Everything you do makes me crazy.  Please believe me, though - it’s not just sex.  I want to be with you all the time.  I think I…”

Holy shit.  Derek Hale was _blushing_.  He was looking everywhere but at Stiles. 

“I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you.”

This was the point in their soundtrack that the violins and brass would have risen in a soaring crescendo to break over them like waves on a beach – it was a momentous occasion and Stiles, for once in his life, was speechless. 

He slipped the necklace over his head, noticing one thing that set it apart from others he had seen like it. 

“Derek, did you…”

Derek just shrugged. 

Carved into the wolf’s belly was _DH+SS_.

Stiles reached up and cupped Derek’s face in his hands, forcing Derek to look at him. 

“I know I’m probably in some kind of coma or magical alternate reality or just a really fucked up dream, but if there’s even the slightest chance that this is really happening, you need to know that I love you, too.  Have for a long time.”

Derek wrapped his arms around him in a hug that was so gentle and sweet, Stiles’ eyes prickled with tears. 

“Fuck, Derek, love you _so much_.”

The moment didn’t last long. 

“Stiles?”

Even the way Derek said his name now was different.  Like it was something precious.  Like it was the only name he wanted to say for the rest of his life. 

He made a little questioning sound, too afraid to speak and break the moment.

“Please tell me that those aren’t the only panties you own.”

And really Stiles needed to thank his dad every minute of the rest of his life, because if the sheriff hadn’t pulled the entire office staff into the conference room to talk about drinking at the spring formal, anyone watching the camera monitors would have seen a shirtless, shoeless, completely disheveled Stiles chasing an unknown man through the dark hallways of the music department and out into the parking lot, where they made out furiously before returning to the practice room, emerging a few minutes later clutching a filthy pair of pink panties. 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> These are the panties I was picturing: https://xdress.com/product/view/X298A
> 
> Happy Valentine's Day, mes amis.


End file.
